The Thieves’ Guild

Chapter Six

In the center of the Great Plaza, a white knight lay on his back, wearily waving his hand in supplication, as a triumphant green-clad knight bowed to the raucous crowd. The Spring Dawning joust was symbolic. The white knight represented winter, while the green knight was the coming spring. Their mock battle celebrated the defeat of winter and the annual renewal of spring. Of course, the green knight always won, but the people enjoyed the event, and cheered wildly when the green knight at last overcame his white-clad adversary.

Master Hammerfell was angry at having missed the show. He and Cael made their way hastily onto the stage built upon the steps of the Lord’s Palace, overlooking the Plaza. An attendant showed them where to stand, as the crowds continued to cheer. Nobody noticed their late entrance, for Master Hammerfell’s place was far from the dignitaries and nobles surrounding the Lord of Palanthas, the Lord Knight of the Knights of Takhisis, and the city’s senators. Among these latter personages sat Bertrem, head of the order of Aesthetics of the Great Library of Palanthas, as well as, numerous wealthy merchants, courtiers and courtesans, nobles, and prosperous captains of the city’s merchant fleet Near them, a powerful contingent of grim-faced guards huddled around a small, weasel-faced man dressed in robes of gray. He glared at anyone who approached too closely.

“Look who is here,” Cael said, pointing him out.

“Arach Jannon,” the dwarf snorted in “They say he knows everything that passes within Palanthas, that he sits in his chamber beneath the Lord’s Palace like a great spider, controlling the web of informants and spies that he has spun across this city. No deed goes unmarked, no cargo landed, no missive dispatched by secret courier, no seditious word whispered, but that he knows about it. He is the Judge of Law of the city, a man to be feared. His is also the special duty of protecting the Founderstone and investigating its power.”

“A Gray Robe, eh?” Cael noted. “Is his magic powerful?”

The dwarf shot him a suspicious glance. “I suppose. Despite his looks, he is not a man to be trifled with, I hear. He is clever and ruthless. They say it was he who brought the old Thieves’ Guild low. Those warriors you see around him are his handpicked guard. The Nine Axes they are called, very dangerous men, the best in all Solamnia. They are not Knights of Takhisis, so they are not above a knife in the back. They guard the Founderstone day and night, and are but one strand in a larger net of traps and foils. Look!”

At the center of the stage stood a man imploring the crowd to silence. He was a small, elderly fellow with a balding head and a groomed goatee protruding from his weak chin. With each pleading gesture for silence, the crowd grew less respectful, beginning to jeer.

“The Lord Mayor of Palanthas,” the dwarf shouted. “Xavier uth Nostran. What a fool.” Turning round, he found his elf companion gently loosening the pursestrings of their nearest neighbor-a wine importer by the name of Jevor Kannigan. Kharzog elbowed the elfin the ribs and trod on his foot with one heavy dwarven boot. Cael reluctantly left the merchant’s fat purse where it hung and returned his attention to the festivities.

People were shouting good-natured obscenities at Lord Xavier, suggesting that he assume all sorts of impossible body positions. Some of the nobles and senators on the stage chuckled in embarrassment. Finally, a tall, powerfully built man wearing the black armor of the Knights of Takhisis rose pointedly to his feet. The crowd quieted somewhat, though they felt safe enough in their numbers to hurl a few curses even at the Lord Knight of the City, Sir Kinsaid. He stared ominously out at them as though memorizing their faces for fixture reference, and soon the jeering abated.

“People of Palanthas,” the lord mayor said in a high, reedy voice. “Before the ceremonies continue, our great champion, the Lord Knight of the City of Palanthas, Sir Elstone Kinsaid, has an important announcement to make, which I am sure shall greatly benefit us all.” His voice scraped an octave higher on the words “important announcement,” causing many in the crowd to wince at his words. Few important announcements made by Sir Kinsaid had ever benefited anyone but the Knights of Takhisis. Lord Xavier cringingly resumed his seat.

With a final scathing glance round, Sir Kinsaid unrolled the scroll he had been clutching, and, holding it up formally, began to announce in a booming voice. “People of Ansalon and all the lands of Krynn, citizens of Palanthas, lords, ladies, and gentlemen, let it be known, by order of the Lord of the Night, Sir Morham Targonne, that from this day forward, the noble chivalric order formerly known as the Knights of Takhisis shall be known as the Knights of Neraka.”

His voice echoed around the suddenly quiet plaza. People stared open-mouthed at the stage, awaiting some sort of explanation. None was forthcoming. Sir Kinsaid let the scroll snap shut, lowered his arms, and after gazing once more around the crowd, returned to his seat.

After a few moments’ hesitation, Lord Xavier rose and returned to the front of the stage. He glanced back at the Lord Knight, but Sir Kinsaid simply folded his arms across his chest and set his lips in a grim line. His glacial blue eyes stared straight ahead.

“Thank… thank you, Sir Kinsaid,” Xavier stuttered, then continued, turning back to the crowd. “And thank you citizens of Palanthas for making this the largest and most, uh, enjoyable Spring Dawning Festival in half a century,” the Lord Mayor proclaimed. The crowd applauded politely, quieting expectantly after a few moments.

“Today is perhaps more special than any day in this city’s long and colorful history,” the Lord Mayor continued. “For today, a great artifact has returned to us. Long have we mourned its loss…”

The dwarf snorted in derision.

“…but today it shall see the light of day again, to spread its glory and blessing so that all may wonder and be proud. Today, the heart of Palanthas is returned, the stone that signified that Paladine had indeed blessed this city…”

The Lord Knight shifted uncomfortably, but Xavier continued unabashed “…and that was so rudely stolen from us after it was given to the city by the Hammerfell dwarves.”

“Well, at least he mentioned us,” the old dwarf muttered under his breath. Cael smiled.

“For over two thousand years it lay hidden in the bowels of the ancient and wicked Thieves’ Guild, until four years ago, when the Knights of Takhisis… er, Knights of Neraka, led by Sir Kinsaid, crushed the accursed Guild under its heel, laying waste to their houses and lairs, jailing their members or driving them out of this city forever!”

“Are there no more thieves in Palanthas, Grandfather?” Cael asked. The dwarf loosed a loud guffaw, but said nothing.

“Even so, little did we suspect the significance of the curious stone we found among the thousands of other treasures discovered in Thieves’ House,” Lord Xavier continued. “To even the amateur eye, it was beautiful, and could be reckoned priceless. But its true importance remained unsuspected until one of our most respected citizens, Bertrem of the Great Library, discovered a little-known document describing the history of the Founderstone. It is a long and fascinating history…”

“And largely untrue,” the dwarf muttered.

“…that shall surely be put into verse by one of our talented bards before much longer,” the lord of Palanthas said.

“Show us the stone!” someone in the crowd shouted. This was Xavier’s big speech of the afternoon. The crowd feared he might go on forever.

“Show us the stone! Show us the stone!” Others took up the cry, until Lord Xavier’s voice was lost in the noise. Finally, the lord mayor threw up his hands, smiled and nodded acquiescently. He motioned to the Thorn Knight, Sir Arach Jannon. The shouts of the crowd changed to hurrahs.

The old dwarf gripped Cael’s hand as the Gray Robe came forward, fidgeting with something in his robe. Cael winced but otherwise held tightly to his friend’s knobby old hand.

Sir Arach removed something from the depths of his robes, and with a ceremonial flourish held it out, cupped in his outstretched hands. A glowing, pinkish light welled forth. The crowd fell silent.

With a brilliant flash, a light like a star erupted from the Thorn Knight’s hands. Shimmering cascades of sparks fell about him and spilled across the stage. A gasp of awe and wonder escaped the crowd, and even the skeptics stood spellbound by the sight. There seemed to be a quiet music in the air, like pipes and chimes heard across a sylvan valley.

“It is more beautiful than I ever imagined,” the old dwarf sighed.

The Founderstone pulsed with light, as though in the warmth of the spring sun it felt its life stirring again after a long sleep. People began to laugh without knowing why. joyous singing broke out all over the Great Plaza. The old dwarf broke into a hymn to Reorx, chanting and roaring in the terse language of his people. Tears streamed into his beard. Cael clutched his hand, his own astonished eyes wide with wonder and delight.

The Thorn Knight staggered as though under a great burden, but two of his guards came forward and held his arms aloft No one knew how long they stood so, for the sun itself seemed to stand still. The light of the stone flowed like honey-scented mist down street and alley, through door and open window, and wherever it passed, winter-brown grass turned to lushest green and buds popped out on the naked limbs of late blooming trees.

It was not for long. The light vanished suddenly as the Thorn Knight returned the stone to a secret place in his robes. Sir Arach looked uncommonly weary and pained, staggering as he left the stage. The Nine Axes huddled around him, wary and alert, with their hands on their weapons. The people in the Great Plaza, thrilled beyond belief, cried for more, but Sir Arach and the Founderstone vanished through the doors of the palace.

The people on the stage milled about as though dumbstruck. All plans for a concluding ceremony seemed to have been forgotten. After a while, the crowd began to break up, while the people on the stage looked around at each other and laughed nervously at the sudden breaking of tension. There was much slapping of backs and forced lightheartedness.

The old dwarf refused to check his feelings. “It is my heart, my soul, in the hands of that cursed Thorn Knight,” he cried. “What I wouldn’t give to hold it for a moment.” He clutched the elf’s hand, weeping unashamed.

“I know, Grandfather. I know.” Cael tried to console his friend while the nobles and other dignitaries left the stage. As they passed, they spoke in eager tones of the parties and soirees planned for that evening. A few nodded in passing to the dwarf and his companion, for Master Hammerfell was well known to the denizens of the city.

Slowly, Master Hammerfell gathered control of his emotions. The Great Plaza was beginning to empty as the revelers dispersed to wine shops and taverns to continue the festivities. Nearby, a party of high-ranking Dark Knights preened and strutted around a clutch of bejeweled young noblewomen, while near the center of the stage the elderly Aesthetic Bertrem remained, holding forth, surrounded by a contingent of junior monks and university students. His high, quavering voice carried through the square. He was explaining how he had discovered the Founderstone document quite by accident while searching for information on the background and formation of the Thieves’ Guild.

As Bertrem continued his statement, a strange-looking pair approached Master Hammerfell and Cael. One was a large man in height and girth. Despite his huge size, his movements spoke of hidden energy and unexpected grace. He wore grizzled sideburns on his massive jowls, and an elegant braid of hair lay upon one shoulder, as was once stylish among officers of the fleets of Palanthas. His dress reinforced this impression of a seaman, for he wore a jacket of dark blue, with brass buttons and golden braidwork on the sleeves. His knee-length black boots were polished to a mirror sheen.

On his massive arm dangled a lovely creature draped in sheer silks of palest green. Her skin was dusky, her eyes dark and flashing. Tight ringlets of black hair clung about the perfect oval of her face, and her lips, pursed into a wry smile, were full and moist. Her body was svelte, her limbs lithe and expressive. Pointing to the dwarf and the elf, she whispered something behind her hand to her large companion. The strange pair stopped, and the man bowed slightly at the hips, clicking his heels together in a military fashion.

“Master Kharzog Hammerfell, my regards and the regards of my wife, Alynthia Krath-Mal,” the man said with rigid formality.

“Thank you, Captain,” the old dwarf answered. “May I present to you my long-time friend and boon companion…”

Cael stepped forward, planting his staff firmly on the wooden planks of the stage and bending to take the woman’s hand. “Caelthalas Elbernarian, son of Tanis Half-Elven, at your service,” he said as he brushed his lips across her fingertips.

“The Tanis Half-Elven?” the woman laughed musically.

“Truly. My mother was a sea elf. It was she who gave me these sea green eyes,” Cael answered while retaining his hold on her hand.

“What did your father give you?” Alynthia asked. “Funny, I never heard that the great Hero of the Lance had any children other than Lord Gilthas, the king of the elf realm of Qualinesti. I suppose that makes you a prince. Or does it?”

“That is an interesting scent you wear, Mistress Alynthia,” Cael returned smoothly, ignoring her jibe. He sniffed the air and smiled. “It reminds me of someone I met last night. Is this not the perfume of the yellow Ergothian lotus, said to have the mystical power to drive men mad with passion?”

She started, but her poise and delicate grace quickly overcame her momentary surprise. She shot the elf a knowing smile.

“How do the noble elves fare under its influence?” she asked coyly, her black eyes sparkling.

“We are, alas, completely immune to its magic,” he answered as he caressed her fingertips.

Yes, well,” the captain interrupted, clearing his throat. “Master Hammerfell, there are some in this city who know the true story behind the Founderstone and how the Hammerfells have been treated by the city fathers. To you and your family we are indeed indebted. On this day, especially, it is important to remember the past.”

“I thank you, Captain Oros uth Jakar, for your kind words,” the dwarf said, bowing deeply.

“Come along, my dear,” the captain ordered. Alynthia detached her fingers from Cael’s gentle grasp and let herself be pulled away by her husband. Cael ran a pale hand through his long coppery hair and watched her descend the stairs to the plaza below. She looked hack once as they crossed the plaza but made no sign nor gesture.

“Hmph!” the dwarf snorted, seeing the bewitched expression on his companion’s face. “There’s another treasure quite beyond your long-fingered grasp, my friend.”

“I wouldn’t trade her for all the jewels in Krynn,” Cael answered. “A mighty prize, worthy of my skills.”

The dwarf settled himself into one of the chairs left scattered haphazardly across the stage. At the farther end of the platform, attendants were beginning to sweep up and remove the chairs, while the sun lowered behind the Vingaard Mountains. A cool, pleasant twilight descended upon the plaza, and lights twinkled among the trees on Nobles Hill and the Golden Estates.

“Well, you’ll never get her away from him. He’s Captain Oros uth Jakar of Palanthas,” Kharzog Hammerfell said, as he produced a brier root pipe from his jacket. “He used to be some kind of merchant captain, I hear, made a lot of money in some venture or other. Pleasant fellow, what little I know about him.”

“I have heard of him. Some say he is master of the reorganized Thieves’ Guild,” Cael commented as a group of scholars and Aesthetics passed them.

“Pah! Don’t you believe it! Mulciber is the true master of the Guild. All know that!” the dwarf exclaimed. “Captain Oros is a retired captain, wealthy from business.”

At these words, a group of scholars passing on the stairs paused and looked pointedly at the dwarf and his companion. They made several signs to ward away evil. Over the past two years, the name of Mulciber had arisen like a shadow over the city. His very name invoked crime and evil. Folk were reminded of the old days, when the Tower of High Sorcery still rose like a skeletal finger above the Palanthian skyline and the name of Raistlin Majere, master of the Tower, was used to frighten wayward children.

Few had seen this mysterious figure named Mulciber, though many claimed to know someone who knew someone who had seen him. Some said he was a powerful black-robed mage, a throwback to former times. Others said the name could only refer to a famous and long-dead priestess of the evil god Hiddukel. In any case, ._ the Thieves’ Guild had indeed sprung back to life, after being nearly stamped out of existence by the Dark Knights. Those who crossed the Thieves’ Guild were sometimes found hanging from the yardarms of ships in the harbor, bearing visages of such frozen horror that, it was said, they had glimpsed the true form of Mulciber in their final moments of existence. Even the scholars and the Aesthetics of the library, normally inured to such superstitious nonsense, shuddered at the merest whisper of the name Mulciber.

The old dwarf snorted and tapped his pipe against the heel of his boot. The scholars turned and hurried away. “Captain Oros is a stodgy old merchant mariner, nothing more. Lady Alynthia is another matter entirely,” the dwarf said.

“Entirely!” Cael agreed.

The dwarf ignored him and launched into the history he so dearly loved to repeat. “They say her mother was a Palanthian from a wealthy merchant family. She married the third son of some noble or other, but she was wild, untamed as a tigress. She preferred to sail on her husband’s ships rather than stay at home with husband and child, hearth and kitchen. On one of those voyages she met an Ergothian pirate, fell in love with him, bore him a daughter. Some say the two died when their ship was destroyed by the red dragon Pyrothraxus off the coast of the Isle of Christyne. Alynthia was but a toddler then, but her mother’s husband took her in and raised her as his own. A good, noble-hearted man, he was. He died aboard the Mary Eileen, when she sank off the Teeth of Chaos.

“But the girl was her mother’s daughter. When still but a lass, she took to voyaging with her stepfather’s merchant fleet. That’s where she met Captain Oros, when she was still a child and he a merchant captain in her stepfather’s employ. When the man who had raised her as his own died, she dishonored his memory by taking her birth father’s patronymic, in the Ergothian tradition. Oros retired from captaining, she grew up into the woman you see while off sailing the seas, and when she returned to Palanthas, she and old Oros became something of an item. They say they are married, though I won’t venture to tell you the truth of it either way.”

“That is why I love you, Grandfather,” Cael said as he kissed the old dwarf on his bald pate. “You are a veritable living library. Is there anyone whose story you don’t know?”

“As a matter of fact there is!” the dwarf barked.

“Pray tell, who?”

“Yours! Why do you go about telling folk you are the son of Tanis Half-Elven?” Kharzog demanded.

Cael hobbled to the stairs and turned. “Because I am, Grandfather. Because I am.”

“Pah! You are a born liar, that’s what you are. Where are you off to, elf?” the dwarf asked.

“I hear a ship bearing wondrous treasures arrived this morning from Flotsam.” He waggled his fingers in farewell and descended the wooden stairs, his staff clunking with each awkward step. “Until tomorrow, Grandfather.” The elf’s voice floated back to Hammerfell.

The dwarf watched Cael hobble in the direction of Nobles Hill until he vanished in the shadow of the Courthouse. At his summons, an attendant brought him a candle, and with it he lit his pipe. He puffed angrily, filling the air about him with a cloud of fragrant blue smoke. “Blast that lying fool of an elf. He’s going to get himself into no end of trouble. Who will get him out of it, I wonder?” he grumbled.